Instead, it was my daughter on the line—ah, the swift and dexterous dialing fingers of youth—and I immediately detected the anxiety in her voice. “Are you all right, dad?” she asked. I thought, “What kind of jerk does she think that I am, that my physical and mental health couldn’t withstand the heartbreak of a New England Patriots defeat?” Then, of course, I realized: exactly the kind of jerk she’s known for the 20 years of her life.
So I took a quick inventory and, a little too my surprise, discovered I was, in fact, all right—a little disappointed but not remotely devastated by the defeat. Which by the time I caught up with my buddies seemed to be the consensus. It had been a great game. We were outplayed. All those breaks, catches, bounces and penalties that have always gone our way this time, finally, went Indy’s. Despite Boston fans’ distaste for the Colts, it wasn’t really personal. How could it be when we’ve always owned them?
Coach Tony Dungy is obviously a class act. Kicker Adam Vinatieri will always be our hero. And though we can cite chapter and verse of Peyton Manning’s postseason futility and mimic his looks of distress, we never really believed he was a choker. Boomer Esiason said before the game that if Manning came up short once again, he would require a house in A-Rod’s neighborhood. Bostonians are genuinely thrilled to see A-Rod come to bat in pressure situations, but, past New England successes against Indy not withstanding, we still feared Manning more than any other NFL player.
As far as I could discern from postgame conversations with my pals, our disappointment at Sunday night’s loss did not stem from the blow to our team’s dynasty. Rather it was that we were now deprived of the chance to keep the party—and the city’s incessant football buzz—going for another two weeks, a seamless transition to baseball spring training. That way we wouldn’t have to waste a minute thinking about our woeful basketball or hockey teams. The run-up to the Super Bowl is sports journalism’s equivalent of the proctoscopic exam: the relentless probing of one’s hometown team for two whole weeks makes its fans feel like the envy of the world.
Which is part of the reason I never thought winning the Super Bowl was quite as big a deal as winning the conference championships. That may sound facile for a Pats fan after three recent Super Bowl triumphs. But before that we lost a pair. And before that we were the hapless Patsies and won almost nothing. Truth is that unless you like parades in the freezing cold, politicians climbing on the bandwagon and athletes’ platitudes, the party is over, win or lose, by Super Bowl day plus one.
Sure it’s better to win than to lose. But the special lunacy of the sports fanatic has its foundation in longtime rivalries—awash with hostile feelings for the opposition. I’ve had several e-mails from Colts fans saying that nothing, not even the Super Bowl victory they expect next week, will compare with finally beating their nemesis in such historic fashion. That makes sense to me. The Colts and Patriots have a lot of history; not too long ago they were division rivals and, even with realignment, have played 11 times since Bill Belichick became New England’s coach in 2001. The Colts play the Bears once every four years. It would take somebody as old as me, but with a better memory to recall when the two teams last played a meaningful game—maybe Johnny Unitas vs. Billy Wade in ‘63 or ‘64—if indeed they ever did.
I remember the Pats’ first Super Bowl appearance, against the Chicago Bears back in the year XX. The Pats were a wild-card entry and, to get to New Orleans, had whipped our three most despised rivals: the Jets (because they were New York); the Raiders (because they were thugs and back in ‘76 robbed us—on an atrocious penalty call—of what should have been our first Super Bowl), and the Dolphins (because they whipped our butts every single season). But after reaching the Super Bowl, we had absolutely nothing against Chicago. We had hardly ever played the Bears let alone suffered indignities at their hands—though we were about to in a 46-10 blowout loss.
In Super Bowls to come I bore no grudge against the Green Bay Packers, the St. Louis Rams, the Carolina Panthers or the Philadelphia Eagles. (OK, maybe a little against Philly because it’s an East Coast thing and once upon a time both cities had pro basketball teams.) Sure, I enjoyed when the Pats won more than when they lost. I even cried—for my family’s 41 years of dutiful fandom in six different stadiums—after that incredible upset of the Rams. But honestly it didn’t carry quite the same back-in-your-face satisfaction of seeing arrogant Steeler fans as they wept—not just once, but twice—into their terrible yellow towels.
To casual fans, the come-latelys who don’t tune in until the playoffs, nothing can beat a Super Bowl victory. (“Oh, did I miss the winning touchdown when I went for my chili?”) But the fanatics, those who live and die with their teams, know that within 72 hours of a championship, they are already lamenting to their closest pals, “Sure, this is great. But deep down I have this nagging feeling it will never be quite this good again.”
That was confirmed for me following the epic joy of 2004, when the Red Sox broke sports’ most legendary curse and won the World Series. Yet within days, there was a sense—at least among those of us whose loyalties predate the discovery of Red Sox Nation—we had also surrendered something special. The Red Sox had become just another champion, like the Angels and the Marlins, instead of a team with a special cross to bear. (That distinction now falls to the Cubbies.) Maybe that’s why Shakespeare’s tragedies are so much more memorable than his comedies.
A Super Bowl victory is inevitably followed by palpable discomfort at times bordering on dread. You not only fear that the next championship won’t rival this one (and it’s true, there’s nothing like that first time). But history tends to suggest disaster looms ahead—that you may not get close enough to the Super Bowl next year to find out. In 1971 Baltimore Colts fans never dreamed that it would be 36 years before they got back (let alone that it would be as the Indianapolis Colts). And watching the Bears ‘86 juggernaut, who would have been foolish enough to predict that it might be 21 years before Chicago returned to the fray?
And that was back in the NFL’s dynastic era. It’s far more difficult to repeat today. In the modern era of parity, dictated by salary caps and free agency, Super Bowl teams have been hard-pressed just to return to the playoffs. That’s what made the Patriots quest to match the Steelers of the late ’70s—with four Super Bowl rings in six years—so noteworthy. When Pittsburgh won its fourth in 1980, it still had 14 starters and more than half the squad from its 1975 Super Bowl champs. The 2006 Patriots team had just six starters and less than 20 percent still around from its 2001 championship team.
Perhaps the best reason to covet victory in the Super Bowl is that the runners-up have fared so badly, bad enough that there is an official “Curse of the Super Bowl Runner-Up.” Last year’s Super Bowl loser, Seattle did manage to reach the playoffs, but—with its slew of key injuries and disappointing play—nobody would argue that the Seahawks completely dodged the curse. The Super Bowl winner almost always faces major challenges, too. The team is hard-pressed to keep all its free agents without completely mortgaging the future, as success inevitably drives up its players’ prices. It usually plays a tougher schedule the following season, if only because every opponent is gunning for them. And it has often proved difficult for the winners to return from the golf courses and awards banquet circuit and muster the same sense of urgency. You can even imagine that Manning, if he finally wins the big game, might attract a few sponsorship opportunities that could prove to be a distraction.
So Colts and Bears fans, take this modest counsel from somebody who’s been there a little more recently than you. Enjoy the ride to Miami—you are indeed the envy of football fans everywhere. But don’t forget to treasure what you accomplished last Sunday. Both your teams are champions, and nothing that happens on Super Bowl Sunday can take that away.
